In memory of Melissa Fernandez, we will miss you so much

We lost our Missy on June 17th. We knew her death was imminent but oh how we had wished that by some way it would pass her by and we would still have her in our lives until, as my son says, she was an old woman. Missy was everything that was good and decent, a great wife, mother, daughter, family member, friend, and educator. She was so disappointed when she had to leave "her kids" in her special education classroom and stay home as her illness progressed. We have lost such a presence in our community and I know we will never be the same for the kindness and love she has left behind. Let's pull together one more time and give what we can to assist Missy's family in this difficult time.

THE FAMILY'S UPDATE:

The Bell Rings

We’re writing to let you all that Missy passed last night after her fifteen-month battle with Renal Medullary Carcinoma. She passed away in Jeromy’s arms, after days of fighting valiantly to be present with her loved ones. She was surrounded by love, admiration, humor, and hope until her last breath, and she knew how much her community loved her. Her last act was to ensure Lena and Aidan did not have to witness her passing – a protector until the end.

Unless you’re a part of the cancer community, you might not be aware of the controversy that surrounds the ringing of the Cancer Bell when someone notches a win against the pervasive beast. While ringing the bell is used to mark a survivor’s incredible accomplishment of beating their big “C” demon, it leaves those who don’t get to celebrate that victory with a milestone unaccomplished, unachieved. Missy didn’t get to ring the Cancer Bell, but we’re not going to accept that as an honorarium lost.

What mattered most to Missy was her connections to the people in her life: her family and her dear friends. She could make friends with just about anyone and always chose to see the grace in others. She was the kind of person people simply couldn’t help but love, and her goofy sense of humor, wide smile, and endless patience and optimism forged countless relationships that went beyond friendship or mentorship. She made family out of strangers and never tired of doing so. With each day and each connection, Missy rang triumphant bells to celebrate the people she loved and who loved her. She rang the bells of victory in each of her cherished roles: being a mother to two bright, caring, and talented children, being a wife and partner to Jeromy for 31 years, being a daughter, a sibling, a cousin, daughter in law, sister-in-law, niece-in-law, an adopted aunt, an educator, and a fierce advocate for vulnerable populations and social justice. She rang bells for 56 years, across 5 “home” states, touching lives and creating lifelong friendships. She was the bell master, the belle of the ball, the clear chime that broke through people’s fears and anger, bringing them back down to earth.

What we’re trying to say is that there is so much to celebrate about Missy that the fact that she didn’t get to ring that Cancer Bell feels miniscule in comparison. She gave this fight her all, and that is worth celebrating. She was a wonderful and complicated and hilarious person, and that is worth celebrating. She had great taste in shoes and music and television. She shaped the people around her, made them want to be kinder and lovelier. She loved to learn and teach and laugh and travel. She was an adventurer, a protector, an advocate, and the most loving person most of us will ever meet.

The next stage is going to be incredibly hard as we adjust to life without her dirty jokes and firm hugs, but we’re so relieved that she is no longer in pain. Every moment with her over the last year was indescribably precious, and we are glad she’s at peace. Our family has never subscribed to any particular religion or set of spiritual beliefs, but we do believe that she is safe, warm, and resting, and she deserves that more than anything.

Thank you all for loving Missy. It seems silly to say since you really had no choice – her warmth and humor ensured that – but she felt it so strongly, and so do we. Knowing how loved she was helped her let go, and we are grateful to everyone who surrounded her with warmth and laughter and joy in her last days.

Love and pain and laughter in abundance,

The Fernandez Brazfield family

Jeromy Brazfield

Jun 15, 2025

Sunday, June 15, 2025

Brief update today: today continues much as yesterday. She woke up at 440am ready to get out of bed, ate some berries and watched Survivor for a bit. She's most lucid in the morning. She tires quickly but, in typical taurus fashion, stubbornly insists on being in middle of the action. Still fighting... love keeps her fighting.

Saturday, June 14, 2025

Missy is mostly resting today. She's is surrounded by loved ones. She peroidically rouses for the odd joke or banter. Messages of love and support continue to pour in. So many people hold her dear in their hearts. We know it and she knows it. Thank you all for keeping her in your thoughts and prayers.

Jeromy

FAMILY UPDATE FROM MISSY'S DAUGHTER:

Lena Brazfield

Jun 11, 2025

Wednesday, June 11, 2025

Hi, everyone. This is Missy's daughter. It's been a hell of a week. I'm a woman of many words, and this would've been a long post even if I wasn't the one writing it, so I'll start with the headline: my mom has taken a turn for the worse.

We've had the gossip machine up and moving since last night, so I'm sure many of you have heard a thing or two, but my dad and I wanted to provide a more substantive update for you all who've been cheering on Mom through this journey.

Things began to unravel on Thursday, 6/5, when my mom had the fluid drained from her pleural effusion, which is a buildup of fluid trapped between the lungs and the chest wall. This is a result of the metastasis in her lungs. It was a quick and easy procedure, and Mom felt good about how it went. Throughout the night, however, we noticed her blood oxygen levels dropping lower and lower. Eventually Dad surrendered custody of his CPAP machine to Mom, which we kept her hooked up to until morning on Friday, 6/6.

By morning, her blood oxygen was dropping to the 60s when she was not hooked up to oxygen, so we ended up calling an ambulance to take her to the ER so she could hook up to their portable tanks. Once settled in her usual ER room and cozy with her warmed blankets (she's a regular, so the nurses have learned she's always cold), they did a chest x-ray and a CT scan, and discovered that there was a bunch more fluid in the pleural space. After consulting with our trusty oncologist, Dr. Lin, the doctor decided to schedule her for emergency surgery to place a semi-permanent drain tube so that we could drain the fluid safely from home. An EMT in a puka shell necklace and his EMT sidekick transported her to the main hospital in style (i.e. ambulance) for the surgery, and brought her back a few hours later. Mom and Dad were stranded in the ER for another six or so hours as they waited for oxygen deliveries to both the ER for the ride home and to our house. They got home late and spent the bulk of Saturday resting and recovering.

My dad's badass nurse friend came over on Sunday to help him with the first drain session, which, freshly out of surgery, ended up being very painful for Mom. Sunday needed to be another day of mostly rest.

Monday was chemo - the first session in three weeks. Dealing with the low platelets and hemoglobin as a result of the horrible bloody noses had prevented her from getting treatment three sessions in a row. With a cancer as aggressive as RMC, this made all of us very nervous, so we were so, so glad she was able to receive treatment. She even ate a bag of chips after a solid while of being turned off by carbs, which was exciting. By Monday evening, though, my mom seemed a little scared. She's been having tremors. She's been sleeping almost 20 hours a day. She's having a hard time distinguishing between dreams and reality since she's so often drifting in and out of consciousness. Her appetite is nonexistent. She told us she'd been feeling this way for a few days. She squeezed each of our hands and came out sit with me on the couch even though she'd been settled and comfy in bed. We spent the night together as a family. She was able to stay awake for an episode of Gilmore Girls, the one where Rory does the debutante ball, and she held me in her bony arms and let me cry. I've been crying a lot since then. We all have.

Yesterday, Tuesday, was hard, too, but Mom was very, very determined to spend time with us. She had a doctor's appointment in the morning, and a nurse from a recommended hospice service came over to our house for a meet and greet, to get paperwork ready for if and when Mom and her doctors decide it's best to stop pursuing treatment. She also helped us with the second drain, and I got to learn the process, which both Dad and I were really grateful for. Later that night, I painted Mom's nails a fun shade of pink while she drifted in and out of consciousness at the kitchen table. She demanded a green chile grilled cheese AND lemonade for dinner, even after having next to no appetite and months of spicy food hurting her stomach (don't worry, we had a bag of mild on hand, we weren't going to go TOO crazy). Even half asleep and managing both the conversation happening in her dream and the one at the dinner table, Mom squeezed in three "that's what she said" jokes and lovingly bickered with Dad. We also saw a really fat lizard, which brought the household some joy. She worked hard to stay present with us and make us laugh even though she was so tired. It was excruciating, and it meant the world to me.

Today is when family started getting in. My mom's aunt and cousin got over around 11 this morning after arriving late last night, and her dad and brother arrived about an hour afterwards, having come straight from the airport. We spent the day as a family. Mom slept a lot, but she was pretty responsive and able to enjoy the time and crack her usual jokes. She was so, so glad to see her family. My dad smoked some burgers which brought everyone some comfort in the form of deliciousness.

That about catches you up to speed. No one knows the future. Mom is supposed to have more chemo on Monday, and we know it works really well at fighting the actual cancer so long as we're able to manage the side effects. But I'd be lying if I said we weren't scared. We're trying to squeeze in some visits from friends over the next few days, and more family is on their way as soon as they can be. If this is a false alarm, Mom is going to have endless standup material, which we're all holding on to. Her sense of humor is a balm to everyone who encounters her, I think, though I'm obviously biased.

I want to thank you all for following along this journey with my mom. She knows she is so, so unbelievably loved, and she has so much love for everyone rooting for her, too. I'm sure I'll be seeing some of you in the coming days. I'm in charge of the visiting schedule and will have daytime custody of Mom's phone since she's too out of it to answer texts, so please reach out to me if you have questions about that (if you don't have my number, you can text my mom, and I'll take your number and respond from my phone). She's touched a lot of lives, and I am so grateful to all of you who have touched hers and supported us, whether that be by reading our updates, sharing our GoFundMe, donating, dropping off treats, bringing my mom fun gossip, or just thinking of us. There are so many ways that people have helped us out since August, and I feel confident in saying that my mom feels so honored and moved by the love and support of her friends and community. I wish I could put into words all the love she feels. I wish I could feel all the love she feels - I would be so lucky to inherit her capacity for joy and connection.

Hope feels like a shallow word for this feeling, but I hope with everything in me to be writing with good news the next time I log on. We'll update here when we can. Please keep us in your hearts - you are in all of ours.

Melissa Fernandez, a beloved community member and former special education instructor at Cielo Azul has been diagnosed with a very rare kidney cancer called renal medullary carcinoma or RMC. Renal medullary carcinoma accounts for less than 1% of kidney cancers diagnosed and is known for it's aggressive growth and rapid spread.